


Wherever You Will Go

by GTRWTW



Series: The Publican's Confession Box [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Pining, the HUG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTRWTW/pseuds/GTRWTW
Summary: Strike and Robin spend an evening in the pub, and a familiar song starts to play.For Ankis88, who came up with this lovely idea!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: The Publican's Confession Box [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149110
Comments: 34
Kudos: 89





	Wherever You Will Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ankis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankis/gifts).



"And then he told me that I was a decent honey trap but I'd better leave the real work to you," Robin explained, her eyebrows lifting as she took a sip of her wine.

Strike gave a short laugh. The quiet background hum of a Friday night in the pub was giving him a pleasurable sense of wellbeing. The woman sitting across from him, recounting the ridiculous comments of a sour ex-client, was only adding to his buoyant mood.

"Well, he's wrong. And an idiot. You're definitely not a honey trap. Well," he said, with a ghost of a smile, "you  _ could _ be, if you wanted. A damn good one. But you're not just that."

"Oh, don't," Robin replied wearily.

"What's wrong?" Strike asked, surprised. He suddenly knew that the client's nasty comments must have had more of an impact on Robin than he'd realised, and he instantly regretted treating them as a joke. He had been trying to emulate the flirtatious comments that had been flying back and forth during the past weeks. Now, sitting opposite her at their tiny table, he wondered whether he should have just wrapped his arms around her instead. Then he scolded himself. He was four pints in.  _ Don't be so stupid. _

"You don't need to do that. I wasn't trying to -"

Robin's hands were bunched in front of her face. Strike couldn't see her.

"Robin, I don't -"

Robin had had three glasses of wine. She had had a bad day, made worse by the stinging comments of their ex-client. She had been looking forward to the relief of telling Strike; she realised that she had been relying on him to make her feel better, and indeed, she had felt a disproportionate wave of comfort when she'd seen his gruff smile waiting for her outside the pub at six. Now, tired and glum, she wanted nothing more than for him to scoop her up and hold her to him; she wanted to feel the reassuring warmth of his chest and know that there was at least one person in the world who really valued her. But she knew that if she allowed Strike to show her any affection she would crumble, and all the things she had spent the last five years denying would come spilling out of her. She sucked in a deep breath.

"I wasn't telling you so that you could - could flatter me," she mumbled. "Just be normal, ok?" Her words were speeding up without volition as they tumbled out. "Don't - don't pretend -"

"Pretend? What the fuck do you think I'm pretending?"

Strike was confused and vaguely annoyed. He made no move towards her, but his fists clenched reflexively by his sides, itching to reach out and connect with some part - any part - of her.

"Nothing. It's fine," said Robin composedly. She had swallowed down some of her exuberance, and she felt more in control; she raised her face to his and fixed a smile there.

Strike was not fooled, but he stayed silent as he watched her rein her feelings back in. He registered the faint chime of a revelation in the back of his mind: a teasing hint of something he knew, deep down, but hadn't acknowledged. But it was gone before he could really turn his attention to it, and a tense moment passed between them, both well aware that there were emotions in play that neither wanted to declare first. And then the sound of a single guitar drifted over to them from the pub's speakers; a gravelly voice began to sing.

_"So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place…"_

Their eyes locked together. The tension inflated, the partners said nothing, and Robin didn't breathe. 

"For fuck's sake," muttered Strike, and his chair scraped along the wooden floor as he pushed roughly to his feet.

Robin felt a stab of panic; he was leaving. The memory of her first dance came to her in vivid colour, even though everything had then seemed grey. She recalled watching Strike leave her wedding, and the pain hit her anew; she needed him to stay this time, no matter the consequences. As Strike turned away, Robin clamped her hand down on his forearm like a vice. He stilled.

"Please," said Robin quietly. "Please don't do that again."

Strike looked down at the tortured expression on her face, and he suddenly suspected that all the things that had crossed his mind on her wedding day might also have crossed hers.

"I'm only going to the bar," he assured her.

"I'll follow you again, if I have to."

It came out so quietly that Strike couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it. He didn't know what to say.

"I'll be back in a minute."

Strike wandered to the bar, thoughts spinning in his head like tops, his heart thundering in his chest. He felt terrible for leaving her sitting there, but he knew he needed a minute or two to regain composure before he forgot himself and spilled embarrassing revelations at her feet. He waited for another round, his eyes habitually returning to the dark corner where he knew Robin sat, hidden from his view.

Strike returned to the table with another pint and a glass of wine; he pushed the latter over to Robin, who nodded her thanks but said nothing. The song was still playing. Strike fixed Robin with such an intense gaze that she had no doubt about what was on his mind.

"It came out the year we got together. But it had no special meaning for us. Not for me, anyway. Matthew thought it was romantic," she said, a little sadly.

"It's fine to have nice memories of him, Robin," said Strike quietly.

"I do have them. But that song isn't one of them. Now all I can - all I can think of, when I hear it -"

Robin's face was beetroot, and Strike wondered if she was going to manage to get the rest of the sentence out. He had to remind himself to breathe normally.

"All I see is you walking out," she finished.

Strike inhaled sharply.  _This is it, then._

"You were marrying another man, Robin."

"I know. But I -" Robin hesitated, aware that the line was about to be crossed, obliterated, scrubbed away forever so that no trace remained. "By that point, you were the only thing keeping me there. The prospect of seeing you again."

"I was  _ keeping _ you there?"

Robin nodded. "I was miserable all day. And then I saw you… All I wanted was for you to take me back. I thought, if you didn't, I'd find a way to make it back to you someday. But I was sure I couldn't do that with Matthew around. I was planning my next moves… But then you stayed. I was so happy to see you, and you wanted me…"

She trailed off, and now she looked mortified. Strike watched her cheeks redden even more, grateful for the blatant sign that her words were nothing but the truth. He felt lightheaded. 

"I didn't want to keep you there. I thought about asking you to leave," admitted Strike. 

The partners were steadily inching closer together over the circular table. 

"Why didn't you?"

"Isn't it obvious? You were married. You were having your first dance with your new husband. I know you'd just found out about him deleting your messages, but you were carrying on with everything. The wedding. The honeymoon. When you went, you - I thought you'd forgiven him."

Robin sighed and rubbed her temple. "I never forgave him for that. I just wanted to get away from all the hassle, our families and everything, and just talk it out. It wasn't a real honeymoon. I just ran away."

"You ran away with all my hopes," he muttered. Robin gasped; despite the direction of the conversation, she still couldn't quite believe what he was saying.

"So you never really forgave him?" Strike asked.

"No. And he never forgave me for… well, for you."

"But I didn't -" 

"No," she said again. "But if you'd asked me…"

Strike looked into her eyes, desperate to hear the end of the sentence, feeling that five years of longing had brought them both, finally, to this quiet, unvarnished moment. Robin had been right; he had been pretending, but not in the way she imagined. He owed her the truth, and it had to be now.

"I wanted to ask you, on the stairs. When you hugged me. I wanted… to take you home."

His gaze burned into her. A thick silence spun between them, heavy with wonder and memory. A quick succession of images flickered in Strike's mind: a hotel room in Barrow; a hospital entrance; a dark canal boat. The silence dragged; he tried to wait for Robin to break it, but his fragile patience had been weakened by her admissions.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking."

"Just ask me, Cormoran, and I'll tell you."

Strike looked at her; she looked a little stunned, but there was a faint smile on her face. He returned it tentatively, and she slid her hand forwards across the table. Strike took it without hesitation, feeling the leap of her pulse underneath his fingers. 

"Robin, did you - do you -"

A loaded pause. Robin looked down at their twined hands, and shy pleasure stole across her face.

"Cormoran, if I could have left with you, then I would have. I'd go anywhere with you. I just want to be with you."

Strike waited a moment, his eyes never leaving Robin's, and then pulled his chair around the table. He leaned forward and wrapped her silently in his arms, pulling her close, holding her against his nervous heart. He felt her arms snake around him and grip the back of his shirt, her hands clinging to him as she laid her head on his shoulder. He sighed softly as he felt his shirt dampen.

"I've waited four years to do this again," he whispered into her hair.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope this is something like what you imagined!
> 
> I enjoyed writing this and it fits well with some other scenes I have in my head, so I decided to make it into a series.


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